


Welcome Home Surprise

by siriuslywinchester



Series: Toro Brosso [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Baking, Gen, toro rosso
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslywinchester/pseuds/siriuslywinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Max has moved into the Toro Rosso apartments earlier than Carlos and decides that he should bake his Spanish team mate a welcome gift on the day he arrives.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Italian translations done on Google Translate, so sorry if they're wrong.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home Surprise

Max had been living in, what he had named, the 'Toro Brosso' mansion for a few weeks now and it was beginning to feel like home. 

When Franz had originally suggested that he and Carlos move to Italy to be closer to the team, he'd been a little uncertain. It was his first time living away from his parents and he couldn't speak a word of Italian. Carlos had called him that evening to say he'd had the same call and to ask if Max was happy sharing an apartment. Not wanting to sound childish, Max had agreed and left Carlos to find something he thought would be appropriate.

Carlos had picked well. It wasn't exactly a penthouse suite with a million dollar view, but it was spacious, came fully furnished and, most importantly, Toro Rosso were picking up the bills.

For the first few weeks, Max had been alone and so he had first choice over the two bedrooms. Not wanting to annoy Carlos, he'd picked the smallest bedroom and settled in nicely. He had met a few of the neighbours, most of whom seemed kind and friendly, and even learnt a few words of Italian which were useful to him whilst doing the grocery shopping.

But Carlos was due to arrive today and Max had spent the morning cleaning and tidying so that his Spanish team mate wouldn't think he was unable to look after himself. The flat was spotless now and it was still a few hours before Carlos was due to arrive, so to give himself something to do, Max headed off to the shops to buy some ingredients to bake him a 'Welcome Home' cake.

He had the list of ingredients stored in his phone and mentally translated them to Italian as he walked around the shop.

Butter. _Burro._  
Sugar. _Zucchero._  
Eggs. _Uova._  
Vanilla Extract. _No idea with that one._  
Flour. _Farina._  
Milk. _Latte._  
Icing sugar. _Well he guessed that was something like Zucchero a velo._

Once all of the ingredients were collected, he mentally added up the prices in his head. He had learned most of the Italian numbers at school, but had to remind himself before he moved, so he was pleased with himself when the amount the cashier asked him for was the value he had in his head.

Back at the apartment, he emptied his rucksack of the ingredients he had bought an opened his laptop to find the link to the recipe his grandmother had sent him. Just the thought of her delicious cakes made his mouth water and he looked forward to tasting them again with the pride of having made it himself.

The first task that Max had to complete was to measure out the ingredients. This was where he found his first stumbling block. Despite raiding every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen, he could not find any scales. He had found a jug which had measurements indicated around it's edges, including 'gram's, but no scales. The measuring jug would have to do.

He carefully measured out flour, sugar and butter, placing them in dishes so that he could pour them into the large mixing bowl - which had thankfully found in the cupboard under the sink - when required.

Max ignored the next instruction, deciding that he wouldn't put the oven on until he knew the mixture was ready. He hadn't baked before and he was worried it would take him a long time to get the mix ready. He didn't want to waste electricity or end up working in too much heat in the kitchen - Italy was already much warmer than he was used to as it was.

Turning back to the instructions, he was told to ' _Cream the butter and sugar together in a bowl until pale_ '. He had no idea what cream meant, but he poured the sugar and butter into a bowl and mashed them together with his hands until the sugar seemed to have dissolved into the butter.

The next step involved the eggs. He almost cracked the eggs into the bowl with the sugar and butter, but noticed that the ingredients read ' _two **lightly beaten** eggs_ ' and so quickly whisked them together in the jug before pouring the liquid into the mixing bowl and adding a spoonful of vanilla extract. He wasn't sure he'd used the right spoon, but he doubted that it would matter too much.

Finally he poured the flour into the mix, causing a huge cloud of powder to puff around the kitchen, and added a spoonful of milk - he wasn't sure where the milk came into the recipe otherwise, so decided to improvise. He used the large wooden spoon he had found to mix in the flour, eventually resorting to using his hands as the mixture thickened. The instructions told him to mix until the contents of the bowl were at ' _dropping consistency_ ' so once his arm started aching and the contents seemed mixed together, he scooped some of it up in his hands. He decided that the fact it dripped through his fingers and dropped into the bowl was good enough, and deemed the mixture ready to bake.

He turned the oven on, leaving it a few moments to heat up whilst he poured the mixture into a large tin that he'd found with the mixing bowl under the sink. After he had poured the mixture in, he realised he probably should have greased the tin, but it was too late now. He doubted that Carlos would mind if he had to cut the sides off to get the cake out of the tin.

Once the oven light clicked off to say that it had reached temperature, Max slid the tray into the heat, grinning slightly at the pride of having managed to create the mixture.

The instructions said to wait for the cake to rise and turn golden brown and that it would be ready when a skewer stuck into it could be pulled out cleanly. He watched the cake inside the oven for a few minutes, wondering at what point the cake would begin to rise, before deciding to watch TV and check on it again a few moments later. He took the bowl of left over mixture with him and became engrossed in Italian cartoons while he licked the bowl clean.

\--

Carlos grinned as he climbed the steps to the new apartment, dragging his suitcase behind him. He was looking forward to living with his team mate. They got on well and he knew Max had a similar sense of humour to him - he was sure they'd have a lot of fun together.

His nose suddenly picked up the strangest smell. It was as though someone was baking a cake, only it didn't _quite_ smell right, and it definitely seemed to be burning. He laughed to himself as he took the last flight of stairs, hoping that he hadn't picked a block of apartments that was prone to go up in flames thanks to neighbours who couldn't bake.

He stopped laughing as he put the keys in the door of the new apartment. The smell was definitely coming from inside.

He opened the door quickly and saw smoke streaming slowly beneath the doorway that led to the kitchen. The TV was on in the lounge, which was the room that the front door led into, but there was no sign of his team mate.

"Max?" he called out, wondering what he had stumbled into and already beginning to wonder if sharing an apartment was a good idea.

"One minute!" he heard the muffled cry of his friend from inside the kitchen, followed by what he assumed were Dutch curses.

Raising an eyebrow, he dropped his suitcase to the floor and began walking to the kitchen, but before he reached the door, it swung open, wafting smoke into the lounge and revealing what he was fairly certain was Max Verstappen.

The Belgian stood framed in the doorway, cover head to toe in flour, a pout and puppy-dog eyes visible through the powder. In his hands, Max held a tray that was blackened, with a burnt crusty mixture inside it. 

"Errr..." Carlos began, wondering what was supposed to be in the tray.

"It was supposed to be a 'Welcome Home' cake," Max wailed, wafting the tray under Carlos' nose, "But it wouldn't rise. I was waiting for it to rise, but it just stayed in the bottom of the tin and now it's ruined. It was supposed to be a surprise."

Carlos couldn't help but laugh, patting Max, who looked like he was on the verge of tears, on the shoulder as he walked passed him into the kitchen. The room looked like a bombsite with various cake ingredients splattered across the walls or dropped on the floor. 

And on the side, Carlos saw a sack of flour. A sack of _regular_ flour. He turned to face his team mate, wondering why Max had chosen something he obviously had no experience with as a welcome gift.

"Max, it didn't rise because you didn't use Self-Rising flour," Carlos said, grinning sheepishly before laughing at the confused expression on Max's face "But I suppose at least the mess and the smoke was a surprise. Thank you." 

He laughed a little more as he pulled Max into a friendly hug, covering himself in flour as he did so.

"Maybe we should tidy up and go buy a cake from the store?" Carlos suggested, brushing flour from Max's nose as the Belgian smiled in relief.


End file.
